


In Three Words

by Ira_Dunfort



Series: At Odds [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Attempt at Humor, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Married Couple, Other, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), allusions to sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 16:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20439056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ira_Dunfort/pseuds/Ira_Dunfort
Summary: The one in which an excited Aziraphale and a frustrated Crowley tell the Prince of Hell and the Messenger of God about their wedding."Angels can't dance." Gabriel remarked dryly."Not withthatattitude." Beelzebub threw a raspberry at him.





	In Three Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadamMortis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadamMortis/gifts).

> This was borne from a playlist which included Gangnam Style and What Does The Fox Say. Turns out I need obnoxious music to write Ineffable Bureaucracy. 
> 
> Posted today to have it be a #ThrowbackThursday.
> 
> Enjoy.

Dinner had been nothing short of perfect. Crowley had found this small Spanish restaurant two villages over with a breathtaking canopy of birches around the terrace they had been seated on. They watched the sun set as candles were lit on each table, and fairy lights shone bright in the trees. It was, without a doubt, a romantic outing. The cook had done remarkable things with zander involving salt and fire. The wine each was matched exquisitely to the taste of the entrees, main course and dessert. 

"My dearest, take me home." Aziraphale had said after his last bite of a cinnamon and apple concoction, reaching for his spouse.

So, here they were, stumbling towards the living room after a too-long ride in the Bentley filled with indecent touches and naughty promises. Kissing fervently, the angel's hands pushed a deep red waistcoat off the demon's black shirt. 

"Where do you want me, angel?" Crowley whispered against flushed lips, such a contrast to the cotton-white suit, and pushed Aziraphale against the wall, thigh sliding between his legs.

Undoing the demon's belt and nipping his slender throat, the angel hummed, considering his options. His hand pushed past the waistband of retardant underwear. "Oh, love, I wa--"

"Uhm, hi?"

"Son of a _biscuit_." Aziraphale froze and _swore_.

Crowley doesn't move, _refuses_ to move, holds on to his husband. This was _his own home_, and he would not be kept from touching the angel on their wedding anniversary. "Gabriel, we talked about this."

The archangel's brow furrowed. "You said we're not allowed in the house unless you're home." 

"Yes!" He drops his head to Aziraphale shoulder.

"You are home _now_." Beelzebub, clad in what only could only be called a tactical jumpsuit, said with an air of mischief before popping a raspberry into their mouth. They certainly enjoyed watching Gabriel being the cause of a little chaos. 

"We were waiting in the garden." Gabriel sounded sorry, genuinely, for once.

"Come on, Crowley," Aziraphale pets the demon's back, "they've tried." He had also whispered something else into the demon's ear that made him shudder and _behave_. 

A few moments later, after shined shoes and finely tailored suit jackets have been put away, the owners of a not-actually-that-humble cottage joined an archangel and a prince of Hell in their living room. They didn't even have a chance to sit before the first question was brought up. 

"Why did you get married?" Gabriel inquired from his usual seat opposite of Beelzebub.

"Why would you even ask that?" Crowley crossed his arms.

Beelzebub's interest spiked at the defensive tone. 

"Because--"

"No!" Crowley wagged his finger at Aziraphale. "Angel! Don't indulge them! It's like feeding stray cats, they will never leave and piss on your carpet."

Beelzebub flipped Crowley off. The earthbound demon mirrored the gesture, mouthing 'mine's bigger'. He got elbowed by a quietly amused Aziraphale.

"It's our anniversary, why not go down memory lane?" The angel was already making a beeline for their wedding album. 

"Because there are more important things to _go down on_?" Crowley had flung himself halfway on the sofa, limbs hanging in every direction.

"Now, now, dear." The angel tuts at him with a little smirk on his lips. "Regarding your question, Gabriel, I was and still am opposed to premarital sex. If I were to bed him, which was most unquestionably going to happen, I had told myself that I'd do it right and as an honest man."

Crowley buried his face in his hands to muffle what could be a frustrated scream.

"Sounds reasonable enough." Gabriel nodded in approval while he unzipped his grey hoodie. 

"No, it _doesn't_!" Crowley groaned. "He gets that nonsense from his dusty old romance books."

"And as it was tradition--" Aziraphale continued, ignoring Crowley's remarks with practised ease while pulling a weighty album from one his many bookshelves lining their living rooms walls. 

"Fuck _that_ tradition! He made me wait another _year_!" Crowley threw his hands up dramatically. "Finally free from Heaven and Hell, we could have done everything we ever wanted, and he goes for an old fashioned human engagement." 

"And you endured, my darling demon." Aziraphale said and carded his fingers through Crowley's hair as he sat down beside him, a besotted sparkle in his eyes.

The demon practically melted at the touch and slithered his head up into the angel's lap. "Anything for you." he mumbled and proceeded to mutter under his breath. _You made up for it. What is one year against eternity with you? Anything for you, angel, anything. _

Aziraphale kept his focus on his guests, eyes every now and then flicking to his mess of a husband. He seemed a bit smug about it. 

"We couldn't just elope, I have you know. We would only do this the once, and we'd do it right. A proper ceremony, all official paperwork, guests, music, a reception." He flipped the album open right in the middle. "Oh, look at us _waltz_."

"Angels can't dance." Gabriel remarked dryly. 

"Not with _that_ attitude." Beelzebub threw a raspberry at him. 

"Stop throwing things at me." The archangel double-checked his white henley shirt for a spot of pink juice.

"Be careful what you wish for, dove." And with that, a swarm of flies went straight for his face.

"Very funny." 

"And there was cake and a buffet." Crowley lilted, looking up to watch a dazzling smile spread right into Aziraphale's cheeks. 

"Oh, yes." He sighed at the memory. "My dear, the shrimp, do you remember the marvellous little bamboo bowls of shrimp?"

"How could I forget?" He smiled right back at him as a wave of warmth rolled over his entire being. "Still, you drove catering insane."

"And you the florists!" He tore his eyes from Crowley to address his guests. "He insisted that the bouquets on all tables were an exact copy of the one he gave me for my bookshop opening, the old sap. Some flowers weren't even looking the same anymore these days, not after more than two hundred years of selective breeding."

"They managed alright. Just needed the right incentive." Crowley sniffed, mild embarrassment colouring his cheeks. 

It was Gabriel's turn to cross his arms in suspicion. "I was at your bookshop opening. Is that why it smelled like that?" He gave a nod to the demon sprawled on Aziraphale. 

Crowley snorted at that. "No, he made it smell on purpose to keep the customers away."

"But it smelled _evil_." 

"Pornography." Crowley said, dragging the syllables out. 

Beelzebub knew an inside joke when he heard one. "There is a story here you'll tell me, Gabriel. But, Crowley, don't gift flowers to angels. You're an agent of Hell."

"_Was_. Bugger off." Was all his former employee had to say to that.

"I do like his flowers, thank you very much." Aziraphale huffed, a finger twirling one of Crowley's red strands. 

Gabriel sighed. "A wedding sounds like a lot of work."

"Yes, but it's also a grand gesture of love and more than worth the trouble. It makes it all the more real, palpable." He reaches for Crowley's hand and turns the ring on his husband's finger. "It's a statement, loud and clear to the world, to bind yourself to another."

His guests were quiet at that, so why not probe a bit himself this time?

"What is marriage to you, in three words?" Aziraphale asked. 

"Greed, pride, lust.", answered the Lord of Flies. "Devotion, trust, love.", offered the Messenger of God.

They frowned at each other's responses. 

"See, it's _both_." Aziraphale started to explain to ease the sudden tension. "Greed and devotion? They mix. You acknowledge that you want all the other has to offer, but you will also be giving everything you have, freely. You take pride in that the other has openly chosen you to be at their side, and you trust them to feel the same. Love and lust, well--"

"You're good at mixing that." Gabriel provided. 

Another raspberry was flung at the archangel. "Privacy! Seriously, how many times do I have to tell you?"

"What? You've seen them in the hallway just now!" The offending fruit was thrown back at the demon. Who, quite impressively, caught it with their mouth.

"I need a drink." Crowley got up, long legs taking swivelling strides for the door. 

"Make that two, dear." 

"Four." Beelzebub called out towards the kitchen. "Gabriel, I know you want one. Don't you roll your eyes at me. You _like_ it, and you'll _drink_ it."

Gabriel rolled his eyes again for good measure. Yet, he did accept the flute of champagne, he did say thank you, and _he did_ take a sip after Beelzebub cocked a brow at him. 

The old fashioned photo album had been spread on the coffee table in the meantime. Pictures had been pulled out to be handed around. Photographs of them in their wedding suits in bright white-blue and black-red each with shared golden accessories, their first kiss as rightful husbands, how they cut the five-story cake, the people from Tadfield, and, "Is that the Antichrist?"

"He carried our rings." Aziraphale said with such joy in his voice.

"Huh." Gabriel frowned at that. 

Beelzebub tilted his flute at the other demon. "Just out of curiosity, why did you marry him as a man? I know you've switched back and forth between the sexes." 

"Have you _looked_ at him?" Crowley pointed at the slightly tipsy angel next to him. "No one on Earth would believe Aziraphale was marrying a woman."

"Crowley." Beelzebub narrowed their eyes on him. 

"What?" He snapped back.

"Did you spent most time as a man because he prefers it?" The flute tipped towards Aziraphale who did his best to look scandalized. 

"Maybe?" He said, after several attempts to grasp the right sounds. 

The prince laughed. "You're a demon!"

"A bad one! Good one?" He turned to Aziraphale. "Angel, help me!"

"I love you no matter what you are, my dear." The angel all but pets his thigh and leans into him to press a kiss on his jawline.

"Sweetheart, I believe you, I really do, and I mean no offence. But." He turned to face his husband. "You never quite ogled me as a woman like you do when I am a man, and you never manage to be _subtle_ about it when I wear a nice suit."

At least Aziraphale he had the decency to blush. "I have standards."

"Those _standards_ make you swoon for my chesthair but not for my boobs." He padded at his flat chest.

"I see what you mean. I wish I don't, though." Gabriel held up a hand to stop the course of conversation. "And really, Aziraphale, you're an angel, have some restraint."

"I'm a _bad_ angel, then." There was knowing smile and batted eyelashes directed at the demon in front of him. 

Crowley groaned at the cheesy line that obviously went right over Gabriel's head. Beelzebub seemed amused by all three of them and enjoyed another sip of champagne. The top two buttons of Crowley's shirt sprung open. The source of the cheeky little miracle is debatable.

They had talked throughout the night, anecdotes about Aziraphale's proposal, their honeymoon to Rome, how they settled into the South Downs, one carrying the other over the threshold. Crowley couldn't deny that he enjoyed telling it all with Aziraphale, reliving their recent shared past so freely.

"We won't be back for at least a week." Beelzebub announced at dawn, gesturing for Gabriel to get up. They went back out into the garden where the first early birds started their songs. 

"See you soon, then?" Gabriel asked, broad shoulders hunched and hands nervously tucked into his pockets.

Beelzebub looked at him, head tilted to the side. Suddenly, their hands went up, grabbed the archangel by his hoodie and pulled him down into a kiss. 

"Make sure of it." they said against Gabriel's lips and gave a shove to the archangel's chest before they disappeared into the ground. 

"Oh dear, I don't think they've done _that_ before."

Lightning cracked and zapped away a confused and smitten Gabriel.

"Obviously."

**Author's Note:**

> I've come to terms with the fact that I'm using the Ineffable Bureaucracy to ask questions to the Ineffable Husbands as a primary plot device. That, and the fact that I'll attend a lovely gay wedding next Tuesday provided some inspiration. 
> 
> As usual, everything was posted without any beta, because: Nur die Harten kommen in den Garten.


End file.
